library. Instead of telling -what to read, my 
wayward pen has only gossiped of this and that; 
but I promise, if you will only bear with me this 
time, that next time I will perhaps gossip more. 
Benson, Vt. s. a. g. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MATRIMONIAL COGITATIONS. 
In the Rural of March 16th F. S. J. gets off a 
terrible burden of “sorrow and regret” at “the 
encroachments of city notions and ideas upon 
the wholesome customs and habits of the coun¬ 
try, and nays that the “ 
among 
flueocee,” 
THE DEATH OP THE RIGHTEOUS, 
COST OP CONQUEST 
my wife 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
A LESSON FROM ACORNS. 
Ofknini; and closing stanzas of a poem—by .Jennie 
Coleman— read at. Corinthian Hall, at the Exhibition 
of “ Rochester Free Academy.” 
To strive for renown Is an instinct. I think. 
So many hearts pant for its pleasure, 
While pressing dry lips to the chalice, to drink 
Of the dizzying draught, without measure. 
But. the glittering throng which history brings 
Is a* monnftU a sight as ever I’ve seen; 
The faces so pale, and eyes that are dim 
With the tear-mlsts of sorrow, I ween. 
Ob'. keenly they suffered to wear the bright crown; 
And the joy of the conquest was smothered in pain, 
Save when some brave soul, ere the life-flame went 
down, 
Struggled hard for the right, caring naught for the 
gain. 
BY JOSEPH HE Rvan 
country girls are j 
the 11 rat to yield to these pernicious in- 
and deplores in hopeless style the 
lamentable consequence thereof, which is—bach¬ 
elorhood. I beg leave to tell him that he is 
mistaken, to say the least, in supposing us to 
be the first to yield to and adopt these styles, 
as candid observation would soon teach him. 
What young man is there who makes any pre¬ 
tensions to the claims of “society,” but apes 
mustache and cigar, or even the barbaric meer¬ 
schaum, with his glass of “ ale, wine or beer,” 
and something stronger? And in the more “ re¬ 
fined circles ” u boy Is no gentleman unlesB he 
is skilled in the use of a pack of cards, and 
spends as many as one or two evenings in the 
week at the club room. And all this before 
they are out of their teens. 
Knowing that these things are so, and that 
young ladies—beg pardon! country girls—know 
them to be so, I seriously suspect that jour cor¬ 
respondent is one of them when he asserts that 
“ the undisguised pleasure of their fair compan¬ 
ions is miserably marred by the sorrowful con¬ 
viction that * nothing BCrlous is intended.’ ” Few 
sensible women are willing to trust the happi¬ 
ness or misery of their future lives in such hands; 
though they may, for want of a “ better one at 
hand," be glad to accept their attendance to 
singing-schools, picnics, sleigh,rides, &c., for 
society forbids that they should appear at such 
places without escorts. 
As l'or dropping the mop and running, I 
think she may be excused when she knows 
that her caller is so cityfled in his notions 
that It would be bis last call if he xfnmld 
catch her in that, vulgar “plight;” and that 
would be a terrible thing, for then she must 
needs stay at home from “ the various entertain- 
ments of the country," to say nothing of her 
matrimonial prospects being all spoiled. And 
as matrimony has been made the chief end of 
woman,—we will not stop now to ask who made 
it so,—when these prospects arc ruined, she has 
nothing before her but old-maidlsm, which, ac¬ 
cording to present public opinion, is almost as 
bad, if not worse than being unequally yoked 
together with a young man of the present day. 
Albion, Pa. Elsie. 
Behold the western evening light! 
It melts in deeper gloom: 
So calm the righteous sink away 
Descending to the tomb. 
The winds breathe low—the yellow leaf 
Scarce whispers from the tree t 
So gently flows the parting breath, 
When good men cease to be. 
How beautiful on all the hills 
The crimsoD light is shed! 
’Tie like the peace the dying gives 
To mourners round Ida bed. 
How mildly on the wandering cloud 
The sunset beam is cast! 
So Bweet the memory left behind. 
When loved ones breathe their last. 
And lo 1 above the dews of night 
The vesper star appears 1 
So faith lights up the mourner’s heart, 
Whose eyes arc dim with tears. 
Night fells, but soon the morning light 
Its glories shall restore; 
And thus, the eyes that sleep in death, 
Shall wake t o close no more. 
This poem —of rare beauty in sentiment and ex¬ 
pression—is by one of the gifted poets of the Em¬ 
erald Isle,” now passed to another life. 
Come to me. dearest- I'm lonely without thee- 
Day time and night time I’m thinking about thee. 
Night time and (lay time In dreams 1 behold thee— 
Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee; 
Come to me. darling, iny sorrows to lighten. 
Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten. 
Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly, 
Come in thyloviuguees, queenly anil holy! 
Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin, 
Telling of Spring and Its joyous renewing; 
And thoughts of thy love and its manifold treasure, 
Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure; 
O, Spring of my spirit, O, May of my bosom, 
Shine out on my soul till it bourgeon and blossom; 
The waste of my life has a rose root within it, 
And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it. 
Figure—that moves like a song thro' the even— 
Features—lit up by a reflex of heaven— 
Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother. 
Where sunshine and shadow arc charing each other; 
Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple. 
And opening their eyes from the heart of a dimple— 
O, thanks to the Savior, that even by seeming 
Is left to the exile to brighten bis dreaming. 
You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened; 
Dear, arc you sad now, to bear I am saddened? 
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love, 
As octave to octave and rhyme unto rhyme, love; 
I cannot weep but your tear* will be flowing, 
You cannot smile but my cheeks will be glowing— 
I wonld not die without, you at my side, love, 
You would not Unger when 1 will have died, love. 
Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow, 
Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow, 
Strong, swift and fond a* the words which I speak, 
love. 
With a song at your lip, and a smile ou your check, 
love, 
Come, for my heart in your absence is weary— 
Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary; 
Come to the arms which alone should caress thee, 
Come to the heart which is throbbing to press thee. 
Often has that suggestive line been quoted: 
“ Tall oaks from little acorns grow.” Here is 
another lesson from acorns; 
Late in the autumn of 1865, in Alexandria Co., 
Va., I saw a colored woman and her little daugh¬ 
ter gathering acorns. As I understood that she 
was thus saving food for the swine, for the ap¬ 
proaching winter, I commended her forethought 
and industry. With cheerful earnestness, and 
strong emphasis, she replied:—“ Tbe good Lord 
gives sunshine and rain, and makes the acorns 
grow: and by His wind He shakes the oaks, and 
the acorns fall for us, and if we are too lazy to 
pick them up —iff a shame r ’ 
This is practical philosophy. If we can so 
abundantly raise corn, as not to need the acorns, 
very well. But the lesson is —we must grate¬ 
fully secure all the facilities which are granted 
us for obtaining blessings. In agriculture, sci¬ 
ence, mental progress, and moral culture, acorns 
fall: we most Joyfully avail ourselves of all the 
good which they can bestow upon us. 
Loudon Co., Va., lf'C*. j. R. j. 
Not every one may a conqueror be, 
For some have not patience to win, 
Nor strength to thruBt back what evils they see, 
The foes less without than within. 
An aim wc must have, for an aimless life truly 
Is a failure from first to the last; 
Next a will that ne'er falters, though slowly, still 
surely, 
Beating back every withering blast. 
If alone for reward we are spending oar life, 
Half the pleasure thereof we shall lose. 
Though we here may not meet it, true hearts will 
revive, 
By the deeds that we do, and the words that we 
use. 
Shall we feint and repine, then, because we must 
suffer, 
When to this, much of strength we all owe ? 
Complaiuing to Heaven in ignorant murmur, 
Wheu the depths of His love none can know ? 
He is effeminate, forceless and weak, 
Whose life not a sorrow or care ever brings, 
Like the iron his soul, that, the harder ’tie struck. 
The louder with echoes still rings. 
COURAGE IN EVERY-DAY LIFE 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
A REFLECTION. 
Have the courage to discharge a debt while 
you have the money in your pocket. 
Have the courage to do without that you do 
not need, however much your eyes may covet it. 
Have the courage to speak your miud when it 
is necessary you should do so, and to hold your 
tongue when it iB prudent you should do so. 
Have the courage to speak to a friend in a 
“ seedy coat,” even though you are in company 
with a rich one, and richly attired. 
Have the courage to make a will, and a just 
one. 
Have the courage to tell a man why you will 
not lend him your money. 
Have the courage to “ cut” the most agree- 
-able acquaintance you have when you are con¬ 
vinced that he lacks principle. “ A friend should 
bear with a friend’s infirmities,” but not with his 
vices. 
Have the courage to show your respect for 
honesty, in whatever guise it appears; and your 
contempt for dishonest duplicity, by whomso¬ 
ever exhibited. 
Have the courage to wear your old clothes 
until you pay for your new ones. 
Have the courage to obey your Maker at the 
risk of being ridiculed by man. 
Have the courage to prefer comiort andjpros- 
perity to fashion in all things. 
Have the courage to acknowledge yout'Iigno- 
ronce, rather than to seek credit for knowledge 
under false pretences. 
Have the courage to provide entertainment 
for your friends with your means—not beyond. 
Vanity is written on all earthly things; it is 
found in the fulfillment of every earthly hope; 
It. Is the sum of all earthly experience. And 
what does it prove? Is it not this: that the 
energies of the son! are fitted to act for—as the 
desires of the soul should tend to—immortality? 
The beast seems content when the demands of 
sense arc satisfied. Bnt when all the reasonable 
wishes of man are fulfilled, when every means of 
pleasure is at his command, when the calls of 
sense are answered, a voice still makes itself 
heard within him, saying:—“ Arise—this is not 
thy rest!” This dissatisfaction, this longing for 
something better and unchangeable, Is surely 
the aspiration of the soul for eternity. Heed, 
O man, the heavenly instinct.! Look upon this 
life as the soil in which is nourished the germ 
of thy Immortal being. “ Let faith have its per¬ 
fect work.” Believe that thou art sowu by a 
wise, a merciful hand; and that, In proper sea¬ 
son, thou elialt be brought forth to the light 
and warmth of a glorious existence. 
Rasha Rcdwoof. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
WHAT SHALL WE READ? 
I might enumerate a dozen names of wise 
men who tell us what to eat and how to cook 
it.; but what one of them will tell us what to 
read ? By “ us " I ineau plain, practical men 
and women, who, knowing perhaps “ little 
Latin and less Greek,” want to select wisely 
from the. mass of books. 
One of old said wisely “ of making many 
books there is no end;” but of buying them 
there surely is an end, if not of books, at least 
ol' money. History, biography, essays and sci¬ 
entific researches are desirable for the winter 
evenings; but now, as the busy season is com¬ 
ing on, farmers' families want something that 
shall rest, recreate and instruct. 
Ik. Marvel diJ the world good service when 
he wrote “ 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker, 
“DOMESTIC BLISS,” 
IDEAL HEADS 
We have before us five ideal heads of Ameri¬ 
can Women, drawn by Mr. Charles A. Barry 
of Boston, and lithographed under his special 
direction in Paris by Lafosse and Fuhre, the 
most renowned lithographers living. They are 
intended to Illustrate the various spheres of 
action in which the women of our land bore 
a prominent part during the late rebellion. 
He Inis so admirably deliniated the character of 
bach that they toll their own story of anxiety, 
hope, patience and undaunted courage—and 
speak more than volumes could do of the de¬ 
votion, sympathy and fortitude of American 
women. They are “ The Angel of the Hospital," 
“At the Front," “The Color Bearer,” “Before 
the Buttle," “ Army News," all five ideals of 
nobly beautiful characters, and ornaments, 
choicely lit, for American homes. As specimens 
of lithographic art they can hardly-be equaled. 
JESUS THE FRIEND OF SINNERS 
You do not find him standing at a distance, 
issuing his mandates to sinners to make them- 
selveB better; but you find him coming among 
them, like a good workman who stands over his 
work. He takes his place where the sin is, per- 
nvtk*iUr wl• h * * II ra*-« »--£■• y ♦ •»* 
have a philanthropic love for the fallen, but 
would not touch them with a pair of tongs. 
Not so the Saviour. Up to the very elbow he 
seems to thrust that gracious arm Into the mire, 
to pull up the lost one out of the horrible pit. 
ne comes into contact with sin, without beiug 
contaminated. He cats and drinks with sinners. 
He site at the Pharisee’s table and does not rise 
because there ia a crowd of people no better 
than they should be. Another day he goes to 
the publican’s house, who had, no doubt, been 
a great extortioner; but Jesus sits there, and 
that day does salvation come to that house. 
This is a sweet trait about Christ, and proves 
how real and true was bis love. 
He sought that which was lost till he found it. 
Once, on a journey, Samaria was a little out of 
his way; but there lived, tu a city a woman — 
ah ! the less said of her tbe better. She was a 
disgrace to that city. But Jesus, who has a 
keen eye for sinners and a heart beating high for 
them, means to save that woman. He sits down 
by a well to rest. A special providence brings 
the woman there. He breaks through conven¬ 
tionalisms, and the narrow bigotry of caste. 
The disciples may wonder when they come and 
find him talking with her. He begins to open 
the Word of Life to her understanding, and 
that woman became the first Christian mission¬ 
ary we ever hear of; for she ran back to the city, 
leaving her water-pot and crying, “Come see 
a man who told me all things that ever I did. Is 
not this the Christ — Spurgeon. 
My Farm of Edge wood.” Every 
spring, when the snow-drops begin to blossom 
and the crocuses push their modest heads from 
their winter covering, we read it like a new 
poem; and through all the year its memory 
haunts us like the faint perfume of violets. It 
would be very strange if this reading is of no 
practical use. Through its influence the little 
raised beds in the garden have stretched away 
into long rows, and the cultivator and hoe do 
in a few hours the work of cleaning the weeds 
from the garden vegetables. The currants have 
marched away from the north side of the fence 
to a stately row in the center of the garden, 
where they receive their share of sunshine an® 
rain; and the meadows that, in the days of the 
fathers, were cut up by unsightly fences, have 
blended tbeir traditional “lots" iato a broad, 
unbroken field, that stretches away, undisfigured 
by fence or wall, to the river bank. When grapes 
ripen on some sunny slope, and the sumac hangs 
out its scarlet banners in autumn, and the tan¬ 
gled copses grow into wildernesses of beauty, 
wc know to whose suggestions we owe these 
things. 
Copeland’s “Country Life," is a churming 
book that makes the townsman sigh for the 
pure air and sweet influences of the country, 
and to “ dream dreams and sec visions ” of the 
farm that is to be. It is a book to rend when 
the bees hang over the clover blossoms, or 
earlier yet when the lilacs begin to bud, and 
the enthusiasm Of gardening is just awakening. 
Delicious strawberries, luscious pears, aud clus¬ 
ters of grapes that “make glad the heart of 
man." will mingle in your dream with a whole 
train of floral biauties. Better than all, it is no 
mere book of dreetions, but a record of wbat 
has been doue, heard and enjoyed in the life it 
describes. It isUvhat it purports to be, country 
life. The autlnjr evidently loves his work, and 
writes with all tjlic enthusiasm of youth, instead 
of the staid prtyriety of middle age ; and the 
reader is sure th share that enthusiasm. 
Another excel c ut book is Robinson’s “Facte 
for Fartuera." Don’t try to read it by course; 
for, if you do, jpu will be appalled by the task. 
But lay it ou the shelf by the dictionary, and 
when you parti lularij want to know something 
about your gn'dening or farming, and can’t 
wait to search through a whole library, the 
chances are tint among the thousand and one 
topics of which,it treats you will find what you 
seek. It contains the wisdom of Solon on al- 
| most all subjects, from the sitting of a hen to 
the setting of afl orchard, and mach learned dis¬ 
course on living creatures, from the sleek short- 
I horn down to u the wicked flea.” If some of 
JOUBERT’S THOUGHTS 
Never cut what you can untie. 
Be gentle and iudulgent to all: be not so to 
yourself. 
Without duty, and its idea, there is uo solidity 
in virtue. 
Good Impulses arc naught, unless they become 
actions. 
Without a model, and without an ideal model, 
no one can do well. 
The heart should walk before the intellect, 
and charity before truth. 
Ambition is pitiless; every merit that it can¬ 
not use is contemptible in Us eyes. 
We should make ourselves loved, for men are 
only just toward those whom they love. 
Wc should do good whenever wc can, aud do 
kindness at all times, for at all times we can. 
Good sense accommodates itself to the world: 
wisdom endeavors to conform itself to Heaveu. 
Often our line qualities are loved and praised 
only because our defects temper their luster. 
It often happens that we are loved rather lor 
our defects than for our high qualities. 
A man who shows no defect is a fool or a hyp¬ 
ocrite, whom wc should mistrust. There are 
defects so bound to fine qualities that they an¬ 
nounce them, defects which it is not well to 
correct. 
No one is good, cannot be useful, deserves 
uot to be loved, if he has not something hea¬ 
venly, either in his intellect through thoughts, 
or in his will through affections directed up¬ 
wards. 
OUR SPICE BOX, 
A woman took a second husband to keep her¬ 
self from fretting to death over the loss of the 
first one. 
The last case of jealousy is that of a lady who 
discarded her lover, a sea captain, because he 
hugged the shore. 
Natl re, when she makes a beautiful head, is 
so absorbed with admiration of her work, that 
she forgets the brains; let homely girls take 
courage. 
A German paper says that a young man re¬ 
cently married a widow twice his age, and he as¬ 
certained subsequently that his wife had been 
his wet-nurse. 
It has been objected that if women voted 
husbands and wives might vote against each 
other. We think that the wives may be trusted 
to prevent that. 
An Indianian who lost four wives — two by 
death, one by clopemeut, and one by divorce — 
has just married again, in spite of bis melan¬ 
choly experience. 
The young lady who was discharged from a 
pickle factory because she was so sweet that the 
vinegar would not act, has found employment 
in a candy store. 
Weak doses of washboard are now recommend¬ 
ed to ladies who complain of dyspepsia. Young 
men troubled in the same way may be cured by 
a strong preparation of wood-saw. 
When a young lady sits in the parlor during 
the day, with her lily-white fingers covered with 
rings, I wonder if her mother doesn’t wash the 
dishes and do the work in the kitchen. 
Snooks says the words “No Cords” are af¬ 
fixed to marriage-notices, because tbe parties 
played all their cards before marriage. This is a 
new theory, aud will be generally accepted. 
RELIGION, 
As religion has its ground iu the imperishable 
nature of man, and its support iu tbe continual 
activity of God, both directly in the Holy Spirit, 
and immediately through nature, so religion is a 
fact of human consciousness, inseparable from 
human natures, and appearing at all periods of 
history. But the phenomena of its development 
must depend on the general development of 
mankind. Nothing is done per saltern in human 
history more than in material nature. Mouat 
Washington does not rise sheer up from the sea, 
perpendicular, seven thousand feet; there is an 
upward slope, though irregular, all the way, else 
the ascent were impossible, except to the eagle. 
Poeta, like Milton or Goethe, men of science, 
like Ackard aad Newton, do not spring up 
among the Mandans or the Lestrygouians. If 
we bring together two extremes of religion, all 
the difference of civilization appears in the reli¬ 
gions thus wide asunder. Supply the links 
intermediate, aud the transition is not abrupt. 
History slips all the way from the rude repre¬ 
sentation of the Bushman to the free spiritual 
religion of the Christian. — Parker. 
Homes in the West.— Theodore Tiltou, the 
editor of the Independent, in writing a letter to 
his journal from the prairies of Iowa, uses the 
following language in regard to young men of 
the East seeking homes and fortunes in the 
West:—“If a brave and brawny young man, 
wbo cannot get along at the East because he can 
find no open door, will go to the West, put his 
hand to the plow, and look not back, he will fiud 
himself at the end of ten years a man of prop¬ 
erty, a chief citizen of his neighborhood, an es¬ 
teemed member of society, and the architect of 
a successful career. I know that many other 
writers have said all this over aud over again; 
hut I believe the testimony needs constant repe¬ 
tition, in the hope that they may lead the feet of 
many disappointed thrODgers of city streets to 
make a pilgrimage to green fields. This is the 
path to fortune.” 
Popular Errors.— That editors keep public 
reading-rooms. That they have plenty of time 
to talk to everybody, That, they are delighted 
to get anything to fill up the paper with. That 
every man’s own special ax is a matter of “ pnb- 
lic interest.” That it doesn’t make much differ¬ 
ence whether copy be written on both sides. 
That editors return rejected manuscripts. 
“It’s all very pretty talk," said a recently 
married old bachelor, who had just finished 
reading an essay on the “ Culture of Women,” 
just as a heavy milliner's bill was presented to 
him,—“it’s all very pretty, this cultivation of 
vomen; but sucb a charge as this for bon¬ 
nets is rather a heavy top-dressing—in my 
judgment.” 
Vice and ignorance are the necessary compan¬ 
ions of each other; and we can no more reverse 
it than we can reverse the stars in tbeir course. 
